


The Five-Year Angst

by Internerdionality



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom Bruce Wayne, F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sub Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24395608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Internerdionality/pseuds/Internerdionality
Summary: Batman and Superman deal with the fallout after some alien mediators require that they seal an important treaty in an... unusual way.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Comments: 28
Kudos: 109





	The Five-Year Angst

**Author's Note:**

> The noncon is of the standard AMTDI way, i.e., there are aliens making them have sex, so I wouldn't call that consensual.

“Kal, just… relax a little bit, okay?” Batman said in a gentle, soothing voice.

“Easy for you to say!” Clark shot back angrily.

“It’s really not,” Batman growled back.

Clark shot a fast glance down at the black-clad hero kneeling in front of him, nose an inch away from Clark’s crotch, hands clasped behind his back.

“Okay, yeah, sorry,” Clark conceded. “Just, um. Performance anxiety.” He leaned his head back again, resting it against the stake he’d been chained to. In front of half of the Justice League and an entire amphitheater of people. Under the bright, unforgiving red sun. Shit.

He closed his eyes and tried desperately to forget the audience was there, to focus only on the physical sensations as Batman lapped and sucked at his dick.

“I need you to help me out a little bit more here,” Batman said after a few more minutes, pulling off. Clark felt a little bit like dying inside.

“I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly how I pictured our first time!” he hissed back.

Silence. After a second, he realized what he’d said, and felt himself flush warmly from head to toe.

Which Batman could _see,_ because they’d stripped the Superman suit from him before stringing him up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Clark valiantly struggled to keep tears of shame from springing to his eyes. _Why_ wasn’t it possible to die of embarrassment?

“Green Lantern,” Batman shouted. “Explain to them that I’m taking the cowl off and will put my hands back when I’m done.”

“Um. Right,” Hal agreed, from where he and Wonder Woman were standing awkwardly to the side of the stage, weapons held to their heads. There were some muttered words back and forth; Clark didn’t focus on them, still lost in mortification.

“Yeah, you’re good to go,” Hal called back.

“Kal,” Bruce said a moment later, in his natural voice. “Look at me.”

Clark shook his head, his eyes still squeezed closed in utter humiliation.

“Clark,” Bruce whispered, just for his ears. “Please.”

Despite himself, Clark looked down. Bruce’s dark blue eyes looked entreatingly up at him through strands of messy black hair, his bare face red and sweaty from being trapped beneath the cowl for so long under the hazy, humid heat of this planet. God, but he was beautiful.

“I want you to look just at me, okay?” Bruce continued in that same, gentle whisper. “Forget about everything else. There’s _nobody else_ _here_.”

Clark grumbled wordlessly. As if he hadn’t been _trying…_

“You think you’re the only one who’s thought about it?” Bruce asked huskily. He leaned against Clark’s legs and rested his head for a moment on Clark’s hip, his eyes still fixed on Clark’s. “I have. I’ve fantasized about going down on my knees in front of you.”

Clark’s eyes bulged with surprise, and he flushed again, more pleasantly this time.

“I’ve imagined taking your cock into my mouth,” Bruce continued confidingly. He pulled back and looked down at Clark’s penis, still hanging shyly, and then rolled his eyes up at Clark with a small, admiring smile on his face. “I knew you would be gorgeous, but wow. This exceeds even my most optimistic expectations.”

“Bruce,” Clark whispered, trying not to squirm, overwhelmed. He was breathing more quickly, now, and Bruce leaned in and sucked briefly at just the tip of his dick before pulling back again.

“Yeah, you have an amazing cock,” Bruce continued. “This cock would feel so good, splitting me open, giving it to me just right.” He dove in again, giving Clark a long, deep suck.

Okay, Clark was definitely starting to get hard now. This could work.

“Or maybe you’d like it better the other way around?” Bruce asked when his mouth was next free. “I’d still use my mouth on you, first. Take you all the way down, swallow you up until you _screamed._ You’d come so hard.”

He deepthroated Clark in one smooth swallow, and wow, yeah, Clark absolutely believed him.

“And then, when you were lying on the bed, reeling from the best orgasm you’d ever had, I’d open you up so slowly, until you were begging for _my_ cock.”

Clark groaned as Bruce took him down again, seeing it clearly in his mind. Lying naked, helpless, under Bruce, pleading to be taken. Bruce bobbed up and down for a bit this time before pulling back off.

“Yeah, that’s what you want, isn’t it,” Bruce whispered. “You’d make the most scrumptious sounds as I sank into you, whimper and whine for me to fuck you faster, harder, deeper.” He punctuated each of the last three words with a short, hard suck.

“Yes,” Clark whispered, unable to keep himself from thrusting up a bit until Bruce’s welcoming, wet mouth, pushing against the chains that wrapped him from head to toe, leaving only strategic gaps to show his bare skin.

“Hold still, Clark,” Bruce said warningly as he pulled off again, and Clark subsided immediately. “That’s very good. Yes, that’s what I’d do. I’d order you not to move, so you wouldn't be able to do anything but wait patiently for me to decide what I wanted to do with you.”

Clark nodded frantically, otherwise remaining perfectly, obediently still as Bruce sucked him sweetly.

“It’d be hard for me to be patient, too, because I want you so bad, want to use for my pleasure, fuck you mercilessly until you’ve forgotten your own name.”

“Oh fuck,” Clark whimpered.

“But I wouldn’t. Because what I want even more than that is take you apart with pleasure. I’d keep to a steady, gentle rhythm, driving you crazy, until you begged for mercy.”

“Bruce,” Clark pleaded.

“I’d even put a cock ring on you just so I could fuck you slowly for _hours,_ until you were so desperate for release that you couldn’t think of anything else, you’d do _anything_ if I’d just let you come.”

“Please,” Clark begged.

“I’d keep fucking you until you knew you belonged to me. You do belong to me, don’t you Clark? You’re _mine_. You want to be so good for me. You’ll do anything I tell you to.”

“Oh god, yes.”

“Come for me, Clark.”

Bruce deepthroated him one last time, and Clark came with a low, rattling groan, spending himself in that incredibly talented mouth. He collapsed back against the stake afterward, letting the chains hold him up as his knees went weak.

A minute later, a few of the planet’s residents came forward and released him into Bruce’s arms, swarming around them, burbling congratulatory compliments. Clark hid his head in Bruce’s shoulder.

“I hope there will be no repercussions from our enforcement of the ritual!” the leader—what was his name again?—said. “You understand, I am sure, that it was absolutely necessary, to cement the treaty!”

Bruce growled at them and removed his cape, wrapping it around Clark.

“Yes,” Hal said, hurrying up to them and interposing himself on Clark’s other side. “We understand and appreciate your people mediating this treaty, Chad.”

Right, that was his name.

“We did not quite understand this part of the treaty process when it was explained to us,” Diana said gravely, “And it is not within the traditions of our planet.”

Bruce muttered something scatological about _this_ planet’s traditions, thankfully under his breath.

“Well, your teammates performed excellently!” Chad exclaimed. Everything that came out of his mouth was an exclamation, actually. “Really, I think the chains added to the ceremony! This day will be the topic of discussion amongst our people for years!”

“Can we leave now,” Bruce snarled.

“Well, there is usually a banquet! After which we return the items of power which were surrendered before the treaty process began,” Chad detailed. Bruce whirled around, toward the voice, letting Clark stand alone for a minute.

“But, um, we can… make an exception? This time!” Chad announced nervously, and Clark grinned, imagining the Look that Bruce must have given him. “Perhaps, Green Lantern, just you and the other, the splendid warrior princess, could attend and receive the objects? I am sure that your teammates will wish to, heh, ‘rest’ after that splendid exhibition!”

“Yeah, sure,” Hal agreed. “C’mon Spooky, let’s get you and Supes back to the Javelin.”

Bruce put his arm back around Clark’s shoulders and led him off after Hal. Clark, feeling peculiarly unsettled and vulnerable, followed docilely. Hal, as ever unable to keep his mouth shut, started making jocular small talk after a few minutes, bouncing from topic to topic, offering jokes and observations about the experience. Although Clark was usually happy to shoot the shit with the cheerful Lantern, he mostly stayed silent, offering short responses only when Hal directed a comment directly at him. Bruce, characteristically, didn’t speak at all. Clark found it harder and harder to talk as they went, and by the end of the short, ten-minute walk, he was leaning against Bruce and trembling a little.

“Okay, so I’ll just—Supes, what the hell is the matter with you?” Hal demanded as he entered the code and lowered the entry ramp.

“I’m… not sure,” Clark admitted, surrendering to the shakes that seemed to want to rattle his bones.

“I do,” Bruce said, wrapping his arm tighter around his teammate. “I’ve got this, Hal, go attend the banquet, get your ring back so we can get off this godforsaken planet.”

“If you’re—”

“Go,” Bruce growled.

“I’m gone,” Hal said, and hurried off.

“C’mon, Clark,” Bruce said in a low, compassionate tone. “Let’s get you into the showers.”

With Hal gone and Bruce half-embracing him, Clark felt somewhat better. He nodded wearily and followed his teammate to the spartan bathing facilities at the back of the Javelin. Once there, Bruce took back his cape and pulled Clark under a showerhead. Turning the water up as hot as it went, he slowly peeled the outer layer of the Batsuit off, making sure to keep a hand on Clark as much as possible, and then stepped under the spray with him, clad in only the black, skintight nomex unitard he wore underneath.

“You’re doing really well,” Bruce assured him, soaping up his hands and a sponge and beginning to slowly wash Clark’s back. Clark started to breathe easier under the firm strokes, his body slowly relaxing in his teammate’s grip.

“What… what’s wrong with me?” Clark asked, confused at his teammate’s behavior and his own response to it and… well, he was confused about pretty much everything that had happened in the past couple of hours, to be honest.

“Sub drop,” Bruce said mysteriously, continuing his self-appointed task. “It’s fine, Clark, it’s completely natural. You’re not used to exerting yourself under a red sun and you had a bit of a reaction to that whole ordeal. Nothing to worry about, I got you.”

Bruce continued to mutter short bits of praise and reassurance as he cleaned Clark and then wrapped him in a towel and steered him toward the crew quarters. Once there, he tucked Clark into bed.

“Just sleep it off,” Bruce said. “You should feel fine in the morning.”

“I—will you stay?” Clark asked, uncomfortable with making the request but unable to deny the stab of panic that shot through him when Bruce turned away.

“Of course,” Bruce said after a second’s hesitation. He sat stiffly down at the top edge of the bed, next to Clark’s head, and slowly stroked Clark’s hair. Clark slumped down into the pillow, all his muscles relaxing at once.

“Just go to sleep,” Bruce whispered. “I’ll be here watching over you.”

* * *

The next morning, when Clark bounced out of bed, he still couldn’t figure out what exactly had happened to him the night before. Okay, so getting stripped naked and chained to a pole while his teammate sucked him off in front of an audience had been embarrassing, but hell, it had also been the best blow job of his _life._ Plus, apparently Bruce was also attracted to Clark, which was the best news he’d had all year, and their little show had not-so-incidentally sealed an interstellar treaty that would keep the Thanagarians off of Earth, so where was the problem, really?

With that in mind, he hurried to the Javelin’s small kitchen and lounge area and made a pot of coffee while downing half a bowl of oatmeal. He usually had a couple large bowls for breakfast, but his stomach felt a little uneasy this morning. Probably still recovering from being under a red sun for that long. Walking back to crew quarters, juggling a granola bar and two coffee mugs—black as night for Bruce, and half milk and extra sweet for Clark—he tapped cheerfully on Bruce’s door. And waited. After several more knocks, carefully spaced out in groups with a minute or so between them, he finally heard a heartfelt groan from inside and a bleary “oh for fuck’s sake, just come in.”

“Good morning, Bruce,” he caroled, and placed his offerings on the foldout table next to the bed, careful to maintain an arm’s width of distance in case Bruce decided to take a swing at him. He’d gotten pretty good at managing Grouchy Morning Bruce over the years.

“Why?” Bruce growled, and reached for the coffee.

“So, listen,” Clark said. “I want to thank you for yesterday.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bruce said.

“No, but really,” Clark said earnestly. “Maybe when we get back to Earth, I could take you out for dinner? Show my appreciation.”

Bruce froze—just for a split second, but perceptible to Clark—and put down his coffee.

“Clark,” he said, still a bit hoarse. “I… I’m sorry that—well. I’m sorry. I did what I had to do to make sure we all got out of there alright, and with the treaty we came for—”

“You know, it’s fine,” Clark began hastily, backing up.

“And I respect you greatly,” Bruce continued, “as a teammate and a friend—”

“Really, I’ll probably be too busy when we get back anyway—”

“But there can’t be anything more between us,” Bruce finished. Clark felt like someone had taken ahold of his intestines and was slowly, mercilessly squeezing them.

“Of course not!” he said heartily, turning toward the door, not daring to look at Bruce. “I just wanted to treat you to dinner as a thank you, and make sure that we were on the same page. Which, clearly, we are.”

“Clark—”

“Anyway, I think Diana wanted to talk to me about something, so I should head off—”

“Clark, I didn’t—”

“See ya!” Clark fled.

* * *

So, that was a thing that happened.

The worst part was, Clark had no one to blame but himself. He’d been the one who’d most closely vetted the treaty documents. He’d approved Foedos for the planet on which the Thanagarians wanted the final negotiations and signing held, because its people had the ability to nullify any superpowers or powered objects the negotiating parties might bring with them. Bruce and Hal and Diana had all helped, but none of them had Clark’s linguistic abilities. In the end, the responsibility for not checking carefully enough to be sure of exactly what the Foedosans’ “trust and honor ceremony” would entail was his.

And Clark certainly couldn’t blame Bruce for doing what he’d had to do to get them through the ceremony. Clark had been the one who couldn’t otherwise… hold up… his part. Everything Bruce had said had been spoken while under the duress of seeing his teammates bound or threatened in front of him, while he stood completely unarmed, and an interstellar treaty on the line. He’d just been trying to save lives—theirs, in particular. Bruce had been _forced_ to perform an act on Clark that he’d clearly found distasteful, and Clark hadn’t even been able to help make the traumatic experience easier. Hell, Bruce had even gone the extra mile and made sure that Clark was alright, afterward, when Bruce had surely just wanted to get away and recover on his own. Bruce was a great guy. No reason he _would_ be into Clark, who couldn’t even… Anyway. Clark was fine. Totally fine.

He kept telling himself that for the next few days, as he cringed inside every time he saw Bruce or anyone mentioned the recent trip. It was a natural reaction to embarrassment. He’d just avoid Bruce for a while, keep his visits to the Watchtower at a minimum. He’d get over it. He was _fine_.

Fine, that is, right up until Hal made an offhand, lighthearted joke about how Clark was naturally inclined to side with Bruce now that he’d gotten a little “sugar” (wink wink), and Clark decked him. He stood over Hal’s prone form, his teammates holding him back, shaking, and the worst part was he didn’t even know whether it was in fear or rage. He’d pulled the punch, thank god, he clearly had, because Hal was still breathing, even if Clark… didn’t completely remember delivering the blow.

“You know,” Clark bit out. “There’s another word for what happened to Bruce—and me—on Foedos, for when someone gets forced to have sex, but that one doesn’t make for quite as funny of jokes.”

“Clark,” Bruce said warningly behind him.

“Your teammate was raped right in front of you, while you stood there and did _nothing_ ,” Clark hissed at Hal. Yeah, it was definitely rage he was shaking with. “And I, for one, would sure like to hear fewer jokes about it.”

And he shrugged off Diana and Barry’s restraining hands and stormed out.

* * *

So, you know. Maybe he wasn’t fine.

He apologized to Hal and the rest of the League—fortunately, everyone wanted to hit Hal occasionally, so they were understanding.

And then he got a recommendation from Dinah and started talking to a therapist. Fortunately, his cover story for the two-month trip had been a trip through South America—Bruce had told him stories in the long evenings on Foedos about his experiences in the region when he’d been traveling and learning how to be Batman, and then Clark had taken a quick trip through with super speed when they got back for some personal insights and photos. So, he told the therapist the story as if it had happened between him and a random other traveler when their bus had been attacked by a paramilitary group in Columbia. Talking through the experience helped a lot, and the therapist was able to guide him toward more resources for understanding and processing what had happened and moving past it.

After a few months, he stopped feeling sick and guilty inside every time he looked at Bruce. In a year or so, he managed to find his way into rekindling their friendship; starting up conversations after League meetings, asking Bruce about his kids, even dropping by the Batcave occasionally again, although he made sure to leave if Bruce seemed at all uneasy or annoyed with his presence.

The next year, he started dating Lois, who was brilliant and ballsy and called him out on his bullshit, but was also so compassionate and insightful about other people that it awed him. She helped him realize that he’d been carrying too much responsibility all the time, that it was unsustainable—that he needed to learn how to fail, to fall, to be less than perfect, and have it not be the end of the world, at least in his civilian life. With Lois, he was able to explore why he’d reacted to Bruce that day the way he had, what it meant about him, and how he could use that to be a better hero, a better person. As his relationship with Lois deepened, he and Bruce got more comfortable in their interactions, and their friendship grew closer again.

Two years later, Bruce stood as the best man at their wedding, and Clark couldn’t have been happier to have the two people he cared about most standing on either side of him while he started off on the biggest adventure of his life.

And the year after _that_ , the Thanagarians wanted to renegotiate the treaty.

“Absolutely not,” Bruce shouted, his lips white with rage. The rest of the League stared at him in shock.

“Look, Spooky, I know we had that curveball last time—”

“Is _that_ what you’re going to call it?!?” Bruce snarled.

“But we need the Thanagarians not to invade again, and they’re insisting on using Foedos for the talks. And the final ritual is nonnegotiable.”

“Perhaps we could send different representatives this time,” Diana said diplomatically. “the Green Arrow and Black Canary, perhaps—”

“Yeah, I suggested that,” Hal said heavily. “No go. They were apparently… very impressed… by Superman and Batman’s performance last time.”

“Find another way,” Batman snapped, and stormed out. Clark hung his head into his hands.

“I will speak to him,” Diana said, hurrying out.

“We _can’t_ make him do this again,” Clark said.

Hal blinked at him. “Seems to me like there were two of you on that stage, and you seemed a lot more affected than he did, Supes. No offense,” he added hastily. “I understand, why being forced, that was super uncool. But I’m just saying. Now that you know what to expect… it can’t be worst thing he’s ever done. Surely better than an interstellar war.”

Clark shook his head blankly.

“Anyway,” Hal continued. “I have a feeling that Diana’ll manage to talk him ‘round. Seems to me like your bigger problem is going to be explaining this to your wife.”

“Oh... phooey,” Clark said.

* * *

“Wow,” Lois said, leaning back on the couch and putting her feet in his lap. “That is… quite a story.”

“I’m so sorry I never told you about it,” Clark apologized again, beginning to massage her soles. “I… I didn’t know how, I mean—”

“I knew something happened on that trip to ‘South America,’” Lois said. “You were miserable for months afterward.”

“Yeah.”

“What an asshole.”

“What? Lois, none of it was his fault.”

"Are you kidding? Even if he was _really_ not at all interested in you—which I doubt—he could have treated you with a lot more kindness, and he owes you an apology for that at the very least. And that’s coming from _me_.”

Clark shook his head a little, then shrugged. Lois had a point—not about Bruce being interested in him, of course he wasn’t, but Bruce was always kind of an asshole and openly _admitted_ it so... yeah. But that was just something you got used to, when you were Bruce’s friend. He made up for it by how deeply he cared, how far he would go for the people he loved, his fierce determination and passion and integrity and...

“So, he’s the one, huh?” Lois asked, looking at Clark keenly.

“What?” Clark asked, jolted from his reverie.

“The one who broke your heart.”

“ _What?_ ”

“C’mon, Smallville,” Lois said gently. “You were in love with him.”

Clark stared at his hands moving on Lois’s feet for a long time. She waited patiently.

“Yeah,” he said, finally. He didn’t think he’d ever admitted it to himself, not in words, and even now it still hurt a little, carving a little empty place in his chest.

“Or maybe not,” she said thoughtfully.

“Huh?”

“Maybe it’s not _was_.”

“Lois!” Clark exclaimed, looking up in panic at his wife, whom he adored. “I’m in love with _you_. Batman is my friend, yes, but—”

“Calm down, Clark,” Lois said, laughing. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re… not?” he asked, looking intently at her.

She hummed and nudged his hand, which he’d stopped moving, with her foot. He chuckled and resumed rubbing.

“I love you so much,” she said, all seriousness for once. “But I knew, long before we got married, that there was an area of your life that I would never completely understand or be a part of. The kind of life and death experiences that you share with the rest of the League—that changes you. Creates deep, intimate bonds. There are things you share with Batman that you can’t talk about with me.”

Clark nodded slowly.

“And I’ve thought, for a while, that—it would be really good for you, if you had someone on the League who could actually provide more emotional, intimate, _physical_ support when you need it. It—it’s something I’m familiar with, coming from a military family, the need sometimes to have a lover who is with you in the field as well as one who keeps the home fires burning. I wouldn’t necessarily have chosen _Batman_ —I’ve thought sometimes about suggesting that you date Wonder Woman. Although that’s probably because she’s the one that I want in _my_ bed—”

Clark choked. “Um…”

“—but I know he’s always been your friend, you _click_ with him, you trust him more than you trust yourself, sometimes, and that’s really important.”

“Can we maybe go back to the part where I think you just suggested we have a threesome with Wonder Woman?”

Lois laughed at him. “One thing at a time, flyboy.”

“Right. Right.”

“Anyway. What I’m saying is, this treaty ceremony; obviously you have to do it, if it could prevent a war. But you need to have a real conversation with Bruce beforehand.”

“Okay, but—wait, Bruce? I don’t—”

“Yeah, Clark, I know who Batman is, I am not a moron.”

“Dammit, Lo,” Clark sighed.

“I’m sure he knows that I know.”

“Yeah; he’s the only person I’ve ever met who is as smart as you are.”

“Mmmm, flattery’ll get you everywhere, including into my panties.”

Clark laughed.

“But seriously, Clark. The last time this happened, it fucked up your relationship with him for years. _Talk_ to the man. Be sure you’re on the same page before he has your cock in his mouth, huh? Make sure your friendship will survive this time. And if, by some chance, you’ve misread what’s going on—I think you should pursue things with him, and that would be okay with me.”

Clark sighed. “I don’t think _that’s_ going to happen. But yeah, you’re probably right about the rest.”

She chuckled. “Well, of course I am.”

Clark smiled and yanked on her feet, pulling her down the couch and into his lap. Lifting her up to straddle him, he kissed her soundly.

“God, I love you, Lo. I don’t deserve you.”

“Mmm, true,” she agreed, rising up and slipping a hand down between their bodies, into his pants. He gasped. “But you come closer than most, I suppose.”

They both laughed and settled into each other.

“So,” she purred. “Have you been a good boy?”

* * *

Clark had no idea how they’d convinced him, but Bruce was there to board the Javelin with Clark, Hal, and Diana the next week. They nodded awkwardly to each other while walking up the ramp, and Clark knew Lois was right. He been lucky the last time that they’d been able to find their way back to being friends, but he couldn’t count on that happening again. And even if he could—it had taken almost a year before their friendship had gotten back on track, and it had never returned to the free, easy, comfortable place it had been before Foedos, even if it was deeper and more intimate now, because they were older and hopefully wiser.

So, after they’d been underway for a while, he walked nervously down the hall and tentatively rang the door chime on Bruce’s quarters.

“Hey,” he said as the door slid open. “I thought we should talk about what’s going to happen.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Bruce shrugged, standing aside and letting him walk in. He had stripped out of the Batsuit now that they were in flight and had changed into a black fleece sweatsuit. “Because that’s what’s going to happen.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said, as if that explained everything. Clark blinked.

“Um, Hal seemed pretty sure—”

“Hal Jordan,” Bruce bit out, “is not me.”

“Well, sure, and we’re all grateful for that every day,” Clark joked. “But—”

“Listen to me, Clark,” Bruce said. “What happened before is _not_ going to happen again. You understand me?”

Clark kept himself from clenching his fists with an act of will. “I see,” he said tightly. “Of course.” He stormed out, his cape flapping behind him. He felt irrationally angry at the automatic sliding doors throughout the Javelin, which couldn’t be slammed the way he really needed to slam something right now.

He could, at least, slap his hands angrily across the door in _his_ room, and did so a couple times, secure that there was no one to see him being a silly idiot. He lay down on the bed, sighing, throwing an arm over his eyes. He didn’t even know how Bruce got him so heated up every time…

After spending a few minutes stewing, he sighed again and turned over, planting his feet back on the floor to go try again, and yelped. Bruce was standing just inside his _closed_ door, arms crossed broodily.

“How the hell do you _do_ that?” Clark exclaimed. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Why are you mad?” Bruce responded, ignoring his questions.

“What?!?”

“You came to talk to me about the ceremony, I told you it wasn’t going to happen, and you got upset. Why?”

Clark sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I was being a dick. I’m just a little on edge—”

“Clark, you don’t have to defend yourself. I’m not angry. I’m just confused about why you are.”

Clark peered at him. “Well. The way you said—look, I know I acted… presumptive, and kind of clueless, last time.”

“You… what?”

“But I’m not going to—I don’t know what I’ve ever done, that would make you think I wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, when you said that, like I needed to be _reminded_ that you don’t—”

“Clark, stop,” Bruce said. Clark shut his mouth. Bruce crossed over to the bed, sitting a few feet away from Clark, and stared at the floor in silence for a second.

“Clark,” he said finally. “I was trying to be reassuring. Like… as if you’d said, ‘we should talk about what happens if I get stabbed,’ I would say…”

“That’s not going to happen...” Clark said, getting it. “Oh.”

“I’m not going to—what happened to you before, you’re not going to have to go through that again,” Bruce said. “I promise. That’s all I meant.”

Clark’s brow creased. “To me?”

“Yes?” Bruce asked, cocking his head in confusion.

“Bruce, I’m not... I’m not worried about it happening to _me._ I’ll be fine. I was worried about you!”

Bruce stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Clark, you were... I _traumatized_ you the last time we came out here, and you’re worried about me?”

Now it was Clark’s turn to stare incredulously. “Bruce, none of that was your fault—”

“Of _course_ it was—”

“—you were just doing what you had to do to save the planet, not to mention our lives—”

“Oh my _god_.”

And as Clark watched uncomprehendingly, Bruce let himself fall back on the bed... giggling? Or actually _sobbing_ a little? What the _fuck_.

“All this time...” Bruce gasped out. “I thought you were angry. Justifiably furious with me, and I thought you were a saint for ever agreeing to speak to me again, let alone letting me back into your life, and you didn’t... you didn’t even _realize_ , you weren’t even _mad,_ you thought _I_ was...”

“Bruce, what the fuck,” Clark said, conversationally.

Bruce sighed, scrubbing at his face, and got a hold of himself, sitting back up. There weren’t any actual tears on his face, thank god.

“Clark,” he said finally. “I realize this isn’t earning me any points in the ‘not a creepy asshole’ race, but I know that you’ve read up on BDSM in the past few years, that you and Lois are into the scene.”

Clark nodded, shrugging. He and Lois weren’t open about it due to their jobs, but it wasn’t exactly a secret, either. And he was perfectly well aware that Bruce had every superpowered threat to the world under constant surveillance, at least to the extent of what parties they went to and what books they checked out from the public library.

“So, in light of everything you’ve learned, what would you tell a sub, a complete neophyte who’d never done anything kinky before, when they told you that a Dom had made them do an emotional scene, involving public exhibitionism and bondage, with no previous consent or negotiation. And then when it was over, didn’t offer _any_ immediate touch or praise, made them stand out in public in the sun, undressed, for several minutes and then walk for a mile, ignoring them, while they were forced to carry on light conversation with a coworker. That it was only when the sub was clearly dropping hard that the Dom did any kind of aftercare, and then it was the absolute minimum. That the sub had to _ask_ them to stay and make sure they were okay. And then when the sub went to them the next morning and asked for reassurance, as was their _absolute right and expectation_ , the Dom brutally rejected them.”

Clark sat there, speechless. After a couple minutes, he stood and made his way blindly over to the little in-room sink set into the wall near the foot of the bed, splashing some water on his face.

“But... none of that was... your fault...” he said finally, turning back to Bruce and bracing his back against the wall.

“Bullshit,” Bruce said sharply. “I should have never pushed you that hard when I knew the circumstances wouldn’t allow me to take care of you immediately afterward. For fuck’s sake, Clark, I told you that you _belonged_ to me, I made you come on command—none of that was necessary. And once it happened, I should have at least owned up and taken responsibility for what I’d done.” He sighed and scooted up the bed so he could turn, resting against the short headboard, and meet Clark’s eyes.

“I was scared,” Bruce explained softly, leaning his head back against the wall. “I completely lost my head during that scene. The way you went down so easily for me—the most powerful man in the world, the best man I know, and you... I was riding so high. That’s not an excuse, I just... it terrified me. I’d _never_ gotten out of control like that before. I was angry at myself and afraid of what it meant and all I could think about was getting away and shutting it down, because it was a weakness, someone would use it to hurt me, or I would hurt _you. Again._ And, I...” he shrugged and shook his head, ashamedly. “I’m sure I don’t need to give you a primer on my intimacy issues at this late date.”

Clark laughed—with a slight edge of hysteria, but it was cathartic.

“Once I’d gotten my head on straight...” Bruce shrugged. “You were barely speaking to me, which I’d more than merited. Hell, I thought you were smart for not wanting anything to do with me again. I’d lost my chance, and deservedly so. By the time we’d gotten back to being comfortable with each other again, you were with Lois, and I couldn’t begin to give you what she could.”

Clark shook his head slightly. He... it was crazy, they’d been friends, spent so much time together, and he’d never realized they had completely different perspectives on what had happened that day. Looking back, he could completely understand how Bruce had seen it, where his head had been all these years. And yet Clark had been in a completely different place, and who was to say that either of them had been completely right or wrong? Just for lack of talking about it.

“I wish we’d had this conversation years ago,” he murmured, staring down at the floor.

“Yeah, well.” Bruce shrugged, and stood, preparing to leave.

“Hey,” Clark said, moving so quickly he’d caught Bruce’s arm before even feeling his back leave the wall. Bruce looked questioningly at him. “What if you didn’t miss your chance?”

Bruce cocked his head again, and Clark bit back a laugh. One of the funny things about Bruce, coming from years of wearing the cowl during his most honest conversations with family and friends, was that although you could almost never read anything real from his _face,_ he often expressed himself with exaggerated, almost cartoonish head and shoulder motions.

“Lois and I had a long talk before we left,” Clark murmured, letting his hand slide up Bruce’s arm and rest on his shoulder. “She said that she thought I was still in love with you. And that if you were at all mutually inclined,” he lifted his other shoulder in a shrug, “that we should give it a try, and she’s more than okay with that.”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment in silence. “She—” he finally croaked. “You...”

“So, what do you think?” Clark said, still in that quiet murmur, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder and stepping forward, between his friend and the door, angling his body to brush against Bruce’s chest. “Might you be so inclined?”

Bruce made a strangled noise in his throat and pinned Clark up against the door, kissing him frantically. They almost fell into the hall when the door slid open—well, they absolutely _did_ fall, actually, but Clark caught Bruce against his chest and levitated them back up until they were almost level again, laughing.

“Clark,” Bruce said, clutching at Clark's neck and the back of his head desperately, ignoring that his feet still weren’t firmly on the ground. “I—I’m going to suck at this, I’ll screw it up again...” Despite his words, Bruce leaned up and kissed Clark again, like he couldn’t _not_ , like he couldn’t get enough now that it was finally allowed.

“Yeah, Bruce, I’ve met you,” Clark said hoarsely. Balancing Bruce’s weight against his chest and hips, he lowered them back down to lie horizontally in the air and floated over to the bed, laying himself down against the hard mattress with Bruce on top of him. Bruce growled and began mouthing against Clark’s jaw and throat, laying down wet kisses and hungry bites against Clark’s impenetrable skin. Clark shivered and went limp, spreading his legs and leaning his head back to bare his neck submissively. Bruce groaned.

“We should... do this properly... this time,” he said, punctuating himself with more kisses. “Negotiate... discuss boundaries...”

Clark nodded. “Yup, we absolutely should.” He closed his eyes for a moment in thought, and his super suit melted off him, disappearing into the shield on his chest. Bruce moaned helplessly as Clark suddenly lay naked underneath him.

“We’ve known and wanted each other for eight years, and I’ve been waiting for this for five,” Clark whispered, running his hands under Bruce’s fleece shirt and pulling it off. “There’s nobody else here, nothing for me to be tied up with. You can’t hurt me and we’re not going to do anything too intense. But please, for the love of all of that is good and holy, I need you to take me right freaking now.”

Bruce pulled back for a second, holding himself up with braced hands on either side of Clark’s shoulders, staring intently into his eyes. He seemed to see what he needed to, because he let himself back down a moment later, grinding into Clark’s groin. Clark gasped.

“Yeah,” Bruce said huskily. “I can do that.”

It wasn’t like Bruce had described, in that scene so many years before. For one thing, they didn’t actually have any lube, and while maybe they could have done without it since _Clark_ was indestructible, neither of them had enough patience at that moment to spend the time making sure he was loose enough not to risk squashing _Bruce._

So instead, Bruce just set up a slow grind, rubbing their naked bodies slowly together and thrusting lazily against Clark’s hip. But while the actions were different than Clark had envisioned, the give and take between them was the same; the dynamic they had fallen into so naturally the first time snapped back into existence the moment they kissed. Bruce exploited it for all it was worth, whispering filthy promises in Clark's ear, leveraging his dominant energy until Clark was trembling and vulnerable below him, feeling wholly possessed and claimed. When they were both close, Bruce reared up and took both their cocks in his hand, stroking urgently until Clark arched and came, tears springing to his eyes. Bruce fucked just a few more times into his wet fist before he came as well, grunting softly and collapsing against Clark’s chest.

They lay together quietly for almost half an hour afterward, Bruce petting Clark proprietorially, stroking him soothingly from head to toe, while Clark nestled into his lover’s warmth, utterly at peace.

“So,” Bruce said finally. “You ready to go out there and give them a show?”

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from the long, traumatic dark vampire fic I'm writing, so I thought, hey, I've always wanted to write a classic AMTDI, that'll be a fun, light-hearted, humorous way to change up the pace.  
> And then my brain went "but what if there was trauma and angst and brooding?"  
> But the boys managed to find their way back to each other in the end.  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and help encourage me to write more!
> 
> Also check out [this fantastic fanart someone drew inspired by this fic](https://imgur.com/a/SNufxdp)


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